


Back to You and Me

by iconicklaine



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Tumblr: klaineadvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 19:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3084266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconicklaine/pseuds/iconicklaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glimpses of Kurt and Blaine as they find their way back to each other in the days leading up to Christmas.</p><p>Written for the 2014 Klaineadvent. Originally posted on Tumblr, 100-word drabbles based on 24 prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to You and Me

1\. _Ache_

This year, it doesn’t hurt quite as much. Kurt doesn’t cross the street to avoid their favorite Christmas tree stand. He RSVPs “yes” to three holiday parties, and even manages a sincere smile when Mrs. Brunswick corners him at Eagle Provisions to ask after Blaine and the kids.

It’s nothing like last Christmas, when he still bled from his punctured heart, the gold too shiny and the silver too bright. This year the pain is an ache, entirely manageable. He’ll make rosettes. He’ll ring the doorbell. He’ll smile and say, “Merry Merry,” as they’ve done every year since the first.

~

 

2\. _Balance_

Blaine pushes the ladder as close to the tree as possible, steps up onto the top rung and prays he won’t fall off. Ryan and Molly had a fit when he pulled out the vintage tree topper, so he decided he’d better do it after lights out. It was Kurt’s job to put the silver and blue flea market find on the tippy top branch, the kids looking up at him in awe.

Mercury glass doesn’t break; it shatters. Blaine leans as far over as he can, and not for the first time this month, wishes he had his spotter.

~

 

3\. _Cloud_

The split happened the month after their big anniversary party. Friends recounting story after story, citing their 20-year marriage as the gold standard should have inspired renewal. But as Kurt and Blaine listened, champagne glasses untouched, the unvarnished truth of their discontent transformed their fairy tale into myth.

It was a cloud that would not lift.

Now, after more than a year of freedom, Kurt stares at the tall glass hurricane on the sideboard, filled to the brim with shiny new ornaments, and is a reminded of a line from _The Merchant of Venice_ : “All that glitters is not gold.”

~

 

4\. _Dessert_

Blaine sits down on the folding chair next to Kurt. “What did you bring for the class party?”

“I’ll show you.”

While Kurt fishes around in his oversized tote, Blaine studies the concert program, stapled down the middle, until he finds the song list for Ryan’s fourth grade class. “They’re doing ‘White Christmas’ this year.”

He recalls another December night. And a promise: Always.

When Blaine looks up, Kurt is staring at him, a large container of gumdrop cookies in his lap.

“Something wrong?” Blaine asks.

Kurt shakes his head, offers a hesitant smile. “I just… it’s nice. Sitting together.”

~

 

5\. _Evening_

 _Blaine_ (9:38pm) Santa letters, incoming. (pic)(pic)

 _Kurt_ (9:47pm) ??? The kids stopped believing years ago.

 _Kurt_ (9:49pm) And Molly is delusional. Balenciaga my ass. She’s a CHILD.

 _Blaine_ (9:52pm) Right? St. Nick’s Day.

 _Kurt_ (9:55) ???

 _Blaine_ (9:56) Santa letters. It’s St. Nick’s Day tomorrow, and since they’ll be at Jane’s sleepover, we did it a day early.

 _Blaine_ (10:01pm) Kurt?

 _Kurt_ (10:03pm) You put shoes out for St. Nick’s day?

 _Blaine_ (10:04) Of course. It’s a Hummel family tradition.

 _Blaine_ (10:09) Kurt?

 _Kurt_ (10:11) Sorry. Getting ready to go out for the evening.

 _Blaine_ (10:14) Have a good time.

~

 

6\. _Fall_

At 42, Blaine Anderson no longer believes in forever.

At 18, he not only believed in forever, he was desperate for it. _Give me this one thing I can count on above all else._

At 39, he understood forever could make a person lazy, cause a husband to doubt, curse all the tomorrows. _Show me what life would be like without this one thing._

Now, as he stands before Kurt’s apartment building unannounced, the resentments and the reasons fall away, like the forever they never had.

At 42, Blaine Anderson believes in choice: _Let me have this one thing, tonight._

~

 

7\. _Grace_

Kurt labored over purchasing his new bed. He slept on the couch for nine weeks until he’d finally decided: Queen (not king), Italian linens (not French), charcoal goose down duvet (not plaid).

Blaine gracing the end of his bed was never part of that carefully selected picture.

Gorgeous expectant eyes look up at Kurt as strong hands unbuckle his belt, tug him close, closer; pull him in. The first time is fast, unceremonious, and unbelievably hot. Before long, he’s face down in a sea of midnight blue, the duvet long kicked to the floor, Blaine’s mouth hot on his back.

~

 

8\. _Harmony_

Night lingers as if tomorrow is years away, filtered light from the bodega two doors down just bright enough to reveal the truth of Kurt’s smile. The bed is an oasis. Limbs heavy and skin tacky from sweat, Blaine cannot recall a single moment when they were out of sync.

Unabashed, Blaine swats Kurt’s ass, then slides his thumb down between two perfect cheeks and presses.

Kurt’s laugh is joyful. “You have a fixation.”

Thumb pushing in, Blaine waits for his Kurt’s gasp. Kurt turns onto his back, open, and reaches up. Blaine exhales as he sinks into their kiss.

~

 

9\. _Imprint_

Scissors firmly in his grasp, Kurt curls tiny mountains of metallic ribbon—red and green, blue and silver. Next to him, Blaine wraps a stack of graphic novels donated by the author.

The kids well out of earshot, sorting toy donations in the gym, Kurt searches for the words.

_I know we said we’d talk about it after the holidays, but…_

_It’s been years since it was that good. Was it a fluke?_

_I haven’t changed my sheets yet. The imprint from your head is still on my pillow_ …

Instead he says, “No cookie duty this year?”

“Not without you.”

~

 

10\. _Jukebox_

In the first blush of beginning, the music is _hey gorgeous_ , and _I really like you_ , and _touch me_ , and _can I come over_?

Over time, new songs emerge (we’re so lucky); songs that deepen (you’re my best time), songs that bind (I’ll love you all my days).

As the years and responsibilities stack up, the old songs sound tinny and naïve.

Then, only broken records: _not tonight_ , and _you never listen_ , and _you’re always late_ , and _what do you want from me_?

Blaine takes a chance. He puts a dollar in the jukebox and looks for a new song.

~

 

11\. _Kindred_

Loving Blaine was never the issue, or the question. In the telling, in the letting down, Kurt assured all who asked: “I’ve loved Blaine more than half my life. I always will.” Most would nod, wipe away tears, accept; they’d lived long enough to know sometimes love isn’t enough.

The children didn’t buy it. As Blaine explained what would happen next, promised they would always be a family, Molly let angry tears fall, her sobs like punches to the gut. Staring at his placemat, Ryan whispered, “You always said finding love was the hard part. Isn’t all the rest simple?”

~

 

12\. _Legacy_

Blaine pays for two video games for Ryan: something about architecture and something about zombies. He finds Kurt staring longingly at the latest karaoke game, the one that lets you compete with singers all over the world.

“I really thought music would be our legacy, that they’d be at least a _little_ bit interested,” Kurt says.

Blaine chuckles. It’s fun to shop for Christmas presents with Kurt, to make a day of it. In years past, they’d split up the tasks, argued over nothing, over _bows_.

His hand on Kurt’s waist, Blaine says, “Come on. We still have three stores.”

~

 

13\. _Midnight_

Kurt unlocks the screen on his phone again. Sixteen feels like yesterday, heart racing, palms sweating. _Just do it_.

Blaine picks up on the second ring. “Hey. It’s after midnight. Are the kids okay?”

“Yes. They’re asleep. I just… did I wake you?”

“No. What’s up?”

Kurt corrects his posture, takes a calming breath. “I want to tell you that I loved the other night. Not because of the sex—the sex was amazing, but—I loved it because it was just… you and me.”

Hearing the smile in Blaine’s voice, Kurt flops back on his bed, and settles in.

~

 

14\. _Needle_

Molly’s torn Santa hat in hand, Blaine searches the apartment for a sewing kit. “Dad could have fixed it, if you weren’t such screw ups,” she’d said, storming off to her room. Unlike Ryan with his quiet, forgiving heart, Molly is a tornado of feelings, mostly negative.

Finding a travel-sized kit stowed in his carry-on bag, Blaine sits on his bed and tries to fix Molly’s hat, the needle too thin for the thick red wool. What would she say if she knew her parents talked into the night? That it felt like a beginning, this love with no stage?

~

 

15\. _Occasion_

Reaching into the back of his closet, Kurt pulls out the dove gray pants he’d had tailored in Paris. A perfect fit, he had been waiting for the right occasion to wear them.

As he dresses for his date, Kurt catches a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror. He doesn’t look his age; the only signs of time passing the tiny laugh lines on his face. The boy he was before, who sat at his vanity and prepared for this day, for this face, he wouldn’t appreciate the lines; he wouldn’t understand the joy of earning every single one.

~

 

16\. _Please_

In a new restaurant, in a neighborhood they’ve rarely visited, the estranged husbands fall in love all over again. It happens easily, without fanfare or glitter. It is a slow, effortless slide into a happiness reserved just for them, the mellow sweetness of anticipation an impenetrable bubble around their tiny corner table.

Their laughter like music, through the reacquainting, through the admiring of revelations acquired by time apart, there is an unspoken exchange:

_Look at us!_

_I know! It’s going so well!_

Later, when Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand across white linen, his palm open, Blaine doesn’t hesitate: “Yes, please.”

~

 

17\. _Rent_

The Friday before Christmas, the lobby of the Mercer is bustling with guests: some tourists, some ‘bridge and tunnel’ elite in for a weekend of Chanukah gatherings and last-minute shopping.

Blaine unbuttons his black wool coat, takes in the hotel’s romantic modern vibe. Barely a minute later, Kurt is at his side, his hand at the small of Blaine’s back.

Eyes shining, Kurt kisses Blaine with cold lips. “You’re early.”

“I left as soon as I got your text.”

Kurt’s fingers press in at Blaine’s hip. Voice low, he says, “I blocked off the rest of the afternoon. Follow me.”

~

 

18\. _Scarf_

Kurt grabs the ends of Blaine’s scarf and tugs him into their room. Blaine laughs and Kurt knows Blaine’s there with him, in another hotel: bedspread on the floor, two boys giving over to their unnamable thing.

Kurt exhales; he no longer has anything to prove.

This time, there is reverence in touch, in remembering. Desperation, yes—this is the only three-hour window they’ll have for days—but also more. _Homecoming_.

In the pleasure, in the too-close perfection, Kurt at last lets go of the remaining irresolute daydreams of a life without his other half.

 _It will always be you_.

~

 

19\. _Twist_

“We’re still the same people.”

Blaine meets Kurt’s eyes in the mirror as he helps him on with his shirt. “And?”

“And we’ll still have the same problems,” Kurt explains. “We’re having fun, now, sneaking around, admitting how we feel—”

“Admitting we’re crazy for each other.”

Kurt turns, his slim-fit Oxford still unbuttoned. He places his right hand on Blaine’s cheek, as Blaine does when he kisses Kurt. “So crazy about you,” Kurt says. “But we can’t twist ourselves into that myth again. We’re not a perfect match.”

Blaine moves Kurt’s hand, kisses his palm. “Right. We’re perfectly imperfect.”

~

 

20\. _Uniform_

 _Kurt_ (11:01pm) The way you take care of me when I’m sick. Your laugh, all throaty after sex. Your strong coffee. Shared showers.

 _Kurt_ (11:02pm) Laundry day. Holding hands. Letting you do all of the talking. Movie night with the kids. The post-it notes you used to leave for me. Your fingers.

 _Kurt_ (11:05pm) That you still look good in your Dalton uniform.

 _Kurt_ (11:06pm) Listening to you talk to my dad on the phone. Sunday mornings. Your breath on my neck. That thing you do with your thighs. When you call me your husband.

 _Kurt_ (11:08pm) Your turn.  <3

~

 

21\. _Vacation_

Their daughter does not take the news well. “Are you _trying_ to mess me up? I hope you’re fully prepared to pay _thousands_ of dollars for therapy, because I’m going to need it for THE REST OF MY LIFE!”

Molly storms off to her room. Ryan chases after her, leaving Kurt and Blaine sitting wide-eyed and speechless at the dining room table.

Ryan returns a few moments later, hands in his pockets. “She’s just worried you’ll change your mind on your vacation… about… about being back together, and stuff. We’re just—are you sure? ‘Cause you have to be sure.”

~

 

22\. _Wedding_

On Christmas Eve morning, Blaine finds Molly sitting on the floor in her room, her parents’ wedding album in her lap.

“May I?” he asks, sitting down next to her. She has the book open to a page dedicated to one picture: Kurt and Blaine smiling at each other as they listen to Burt’s speech.

Worn out from her numerous rants, Molly leans into Blaine. “Why do people break up?”

“Sometimes, when a love is meant to be, you forget to take care of it.”

“Will you, now?”

Blaine kisses the top of her hair, soft like Kurt’s. “Every day.”

~

 

23\. _Year_

This year, Kurt doesn’t have to pretend he’ll be okay someday. He doesn’t make a plan to meet up with single friends avoiding empty apartments or midnight mass. This year, Kurt packs a bag, one slim box wrapped in silver paper tucked inside old flannel pajamas. This year, when Kurt rings the doorbell, rosettes in hand and luggage at his heels, he’ll be coming home.

Kurt pulls out his phone, swipes his thumb over the background he never changed: Blaine snuggling with their sleeping kids, one finger on his lips to say: “shhhh.”

 _Kurt_ (5:39pm) Merry Merry. On my way.

~

 

24\. _Zigzag_

_Epilogue_

“Did she make her train?” Kurt asks, piping icing in a zigzag pattern on star-shaped cookies.

Blaine comes up behind him, swipes some icing from the bowl. “It’s a Christmas miracle. Not only did she make it, Ryan will beat her by seven minutes. They’ll share a cab.”

“So we have our empty nest for another, what? Four hours?”

“Yup. Just us, baby,” Blaine says. In his voice there is a tease, and a promise, and the resounding joy that comes from a life—and a love—well lived.

Kurt laughs, leans back against the counter. “Whatever should we do?”

 

THE END


End file.
